“Mommy, you put my hair back in a ponytail, pwees?” my little three year old asks.
I put down what I was doing and look at her so lovingly. See, my little honey’s hair grows so slowly. It’s fine, wispy and there’s such little of it. She rarely asks me to do anything with her hair, preferring instead the “gypsy/beach-girl tousled” look.
“Sure,” I say, because this is the only thing I can say to such angelic sweetness.
I slowly brush her hair. I linger, gently running the brush and my fingers through her little, fine curls. I’m sitting behind her – me on the couch, her standing in front of me – and my heart is full.
“How rarely I get to linger like this – looking at the back of her head so close,” I say to myself. Seeing her from a new angle is breath-taking. A new angle for noticing how precious, how beautiful, what a gift she is.
As I brush her hair, I’m now thinking of the generations of moms and daughters who have sat just like this. A morning ritual. An evening ritual. Private, sacred ritual between mom and daughter. Slowly, sensually, sweetly connecting. I’m not thinking of the struggles or stress between moms and daughters. I’m thinking of these still moments of being close, holding my daughter’s sacred, sweet head in my hands, slowing down, connecting.
Something in me knows this won’t always be the case – there will be struggles and knots in her hair, doors closed, her preferring to be alone rather than with her current favorite person: me.
But we have this moment right now. This sacred moment right now. And somehow we are a part of feminine circle that’s as ancient as human beings, moms and daughters.
I breathe this moment in and out. I breathe in the smell of her. I caress her little head, noticing its shape and bumps. I gently pull back her hair into a tiny pony tail.
“finished,” I say.
“You look lovely,” I say, admiring the blonde and browns weaving together like wheat one last time before she turns around.
She takes her fingers and traces the new ponytail a few times, studying it, marveling in it. She looks up up at me, eyes completely full of delight. “Thank you, mommy. You my best mommy,” she says. She hugs me and then runs off to the bathroom and steps on the stool to see this new look. I’m sitting on the couch, still feeling the heat from her hug while feeling the coolness of the air where she used to be standing in front of me.
“This is where the holy shows up,” I think to myself. Right here in this moment. Putting down what isn’t important, what can wait for a moment, and seeing the invitation I have to delight in the ordinary and to tenderly connect.
And just like the cool empty space where she was standing, these moments are here and then gone. I also know that moments like this endure, that they are the ones that are slowly being weaved into who my daughter is and she will draw from when I am gone some day.
Thich Nhat Hanh said, “The miracle isn’t walking on water. It’s walking on this green earth.”
Yes, he is right.
The miracle is pausing to be present,
to give our presence,
to show up,
to let go of keeping our fears at bay,
to let go of the illusion of control,
to let go of the belief we have all the time in the world,
to delight in this green earth and the people we get to see every day,
to see it all as a gift and an invitation into the holy,
to embrace this moment and linger with whoever is asking you to see them, to really see them, with tenderness, with gentleness…for a moment.
Whenever we can. Whenever we wake up to see such a holy invitation. And that is enough.
** Friends, thank you for all your lovely comments — here, on Facebook, and in emails. It’s a delight to know that something here resonates with you and inspires you. I appreciate them. This is truly how we support each other in community. I hope today you are inspired to live with more delight, compassion, and connection.
Blessings,
I forwarded this blog to my beloved daughter. Thank you!!
Sent from my iPhone
Thank you, Jenn! She is a love! I know you linger in these moments!
Beautiful, but I wonder, how do you manage to make your daughter stay still and for the whole time… Mine never do, continue to fuss about how it is pulling their hair and keep rotating and running to the mirror to see and asking “Is it finished YET?” 😀 so no much time for contemplation here…
I think C. stood so still because it was something she wanted and it wasn’t an everyday kind of thing. So I didn’t get her to stand still! What is difficult around here is brushing teeth. I try (try!) to take our time, going at the whole evening ritual slowly, giving her some control in it all. Bit yes it is hard when we are tired, under resourced, feeling pressured and stressed. That’s when I try n soften. Let go. Say to myself “is this a big deal?” I say to myself “soften. Relax. Release.” I give myself some compassion. Then in those moments when I really do this, it turns out somewhat better- connecting instead of losing it! How about you??? How do you get resourced in those stressful moments?
we did that with the teeth too… now my older daughter has 4 cavities and I deeply regret it…
Now I have to insist that they either do it properly or I have to do it myself…
I am now trying the approach described in book respect and be respected, I am not sure if it is available in English though… much better, but sometimes it just happens that one of us or all are too tired or stressed or ….. nothing works 100%… as we are no robots…
I hear you — yes, with teeth, I know, I struggle with this. Combing your hair is one thing. It’s another thing when it’s something like brushing teeth. I struggle with this — yes, positive discipline, compassionate parenting. I’ve tried several approaches and I’d say we are still in the thick of it! It DOES happen to be at night when at least one of is stressed and tired, just as you describe here! I was driving home this evening, the kiddos were tired and crying, and I could’ve lost it. Instead I chose to “sink into my heart” — to actually feel the back of my heart, feel the fullness of my heart, and have compassion. It helped me respond instead of react. I don’t do this all the time, but the times I do I expend less energy and it just feels better. Trying!
We are all trying the best 🙂 hold on, it is good to know that you are not alone in there
OMG, I loved this. Just. Loved. It.
Thanks Rachel!! Is see you looking at L. this way and attending to her so beautifully.
no words to acknowledge
Sushma, that happens to me a lot. I don’t have words…just simply absorbing, nodding “yes” in solidarity. thank you for being here, Sushma. Lisa
Thanks for sharing that moment, I loved reading it and I feel so reflected. There are moments when I’m with my son that are just perfect and I just close my eyes for a second like trying to capture the moment and keep it in my memory forever…
Cristina, I love what you say here because it’s not about capturing every. single. little. moment. That puts a LOT of stress on us! But rather, when we notice, when we savor, when we linger, when we respond with compassion — that is enough and it is lovely. You keep on rockin’ Cristina! Thank you for being here and for loving the way you are as a mama. Lisa
Lisa, all your posts wet my eyes and brighten my sight. I cannot find the words to thank you enough. This blog is a place to come and have my heart cared for and my spirit nourished. Bless your beautiful heart, dear one. xo Gina
Gina, I am so grateful! Thank you. Your words are always so so kind. They nourish me and empower me. Thank you. Love, Lisa
Exquisitely beautiful. Thank you for sharing x
Beautiful as always Lisa. I experience moments like this with my daughter and it makes you breathe deep and know that all is right in world right then and there. I recently had this from the perspective of a daughter with my mom as well. As my parents get older in age and health is not the greatest and just with the uncertainties of life I find myself letting those moments linger more with them as well, not knowing whether it will be my last with them I was recently in the hospital and my mom was with my family the whole time while I was in there and in recovery. One night I wasn’t feeling particularly well and she was on the couch watching tv, I curled up with her like I was five again and she gently stroked my hair as I remember her doing when I was little. In that moment, I felt all was right with the world, just as I do when I am in the mommy position with my daughter. She eased my pain and my worries without saying a word, as you said simply just being present.
Dear Beth, oh friend, I can picture you curled up with your mom. Yes, I was thinking about these same kind of moments with my parents as well. There is something so sacred and “right” about now caring for my parents (or beginning to). It feels like coming full circle. Yes offering our full and authentic presence is so healing. I know for me,too, as a care taker and therapist that it is very healing when someone offers me the same kind of gentle and compassionate presence.
Beth, I’m so grateful for your beautiful reflection. It resonates deeply with me.